


Faith

by kamikaze43v3r



Series: Cravings [4]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, M/M, Religious Conflict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 10:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9320279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamikaze43v3r/pseuds/kamikaze43v3r
Summary: “What is your wish, Credence?” Graves asks, soft and gentle like a lover’s embrace. The young man named Credence is fading fast, but he proves to be much stronger than his delicate features.“I want -” Credence’s voice hitches from a sob. His eyes gaze deep into Graves’. “I want to live.”Graves answers him with a smile, and the young man dies.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Partly inspired by Fright Night with Colin Farrell dripping in blood and wanting to see Ezra the same way. Maybe I'll draw that someday. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Graves sinks his teeth into pale, too-cold skin. Elongated canines pierce into the young man's jugular and contrasting warm blood spurts into his mouth. The taste is rich and sweet and it would have made Graves moan if his mouth isn't occupied. He hears the young man he is feeding on murmur a long string of prayers, recitals that are foreign and an annoyance to him. Graves pushes his teeth in deeper to quiet him; he has no patience with religions and false gods, but the other only stutters and continues to recite the holy words in a ghostly whisper.

Yet, Graves can detect no fear in his voice, just a reticent calm.

The young man's pulse weakens and his gaze is distant as his voice trails off. Instead, his weak, shaking hand somehow finds its way into Graves’ hair, tugging lightly even as his life is being drained. It is something peculiar for Graves and he entertains the thought that the young man might have some last words to say.

Curiosity wins him over, and Graves pulls away to meet the dying soul’s eyes, pleasantly surprised to see his smile. He is covered in blood from his neck, but Graves has never seen a more beautiful sight. Red on milk white skin, with a face that is both dangerously sharp and fine.

He'd only just met this miserable soul a moment ago. The young man with eyes so innocent yet jaded, and arms full of fresh and faded scars. Graves has scented more than those that are self-inflicted, of old lashes and healed over scabs underneath those clothes. His body appears weakened and malnourished but holds an unexpected appeal in his face. Graves hadn’t expected to find such a lonesome beauty wishing for death, but his blood had smelled sweet and alluring. A contrast to the immense misery that wafted off him.

Graves had decided it was best he made use of the blood of the dying man, instead of it all going to waste in a corpse. The young man had offered no resistance at all when Graves knelt beside him and took his neck, but just stared at him in a daze.

When Graves gazes into those eyes again, he takes in the colour of warm honey, rimmed red with tears and pain and resignation. He spots something else in there too, while the light of life starts to dim as the blood continues to trickle out of his wounds. _Regret_ , Graves thinks, _and desire_.

Graves asks in a hushed voice, “What is your name, sweet boy?” His bloodied fingers lightly push aside the young man’s hair obscuring his eyes. Graves wants a closer look.

“Cre… Credence,” the young man rasps, as a tear spills from his eyes. Graves feels something, an emotion too old and almost forgotten.

“What is your wish, Credence?” Graves asks again, soft and gentle like a lover’s embrace. The young man named Credence is fading fast, but he proves to be much stronger than his delicate features. The hand that has been clutching to his hair remains latched onto him, firm and insistent.

“I want -” Credence’s voice hitches from a sob. His grip loosens. His golden brown eyes gaze deep into Graves’. “I want to live.”

Graves answers him with a smile, and the young man dies.

 

* * *

 

He is reborn in 3 days.

During that time, Graves watches over the young man - Credence - as his body takes in and rejects the new blood in his veins. The power is both a blessing and a curse, pushing the mortal human body to its limits, and when that limit breaks, it starts to recuperate.

Graves knows the young man will survive. He has seen Credence. One can see the true nature of someone once they are on the brink of death. And Credence’s nature is something quite admirable.

Credence slowly opens his eyes, the honeyed colour dipped in crimson before he blinks it away to its original soft tone. Graves is there by his side with a pleased smile.

“Are you an angel?” is the first thing he asks Graves, and the man has never been thrown by such a question. He has lived a long time, and many have mistaken him for that - albeit as a seductive, fallen angel bent on straying mortals from their good ways.

“No, unfortunately,” Graves replies, sweeping the mess of curls of the younger man’s hair from his face. The hand settles on his cheek, cupping the sharply carved jaw. “I am not. Would you like me to be?”

Credence doesn’t answer as he stares and blinks at Graves. It is quite unnerving how emotionless and dead the young man appears despite just been gifted with a new life, but Graves waits patiently for him to respond.

“No,” he says simply, after what seems like an eternity. His golden brown eyes glimmer with something foreign. “You saved me. You are better than any angel or god.”

Graves fixes a blank look at the young man, stunned by the words spoken so steadily. Credence doesn’t explain further, but his eyes close shut, and it appears he’s gone back to sleep. He seems far too comfortable for someone who’s just undergone a transformation. Graves notes how interesting the boy is, and lets him rest. His body still needs time to get used to its new condition.

The older man finds himself grinning, amused and pleased at what a special soul he’d found. The hand on Credence’s cheek traces a thumb along the plush red lips that stand out from the moon pale skin. Truly, what an alluring wonder he’d found.

Graves has no plans for this sweet thing just yet, but he imagines teaching him many things that would strengthen that spark in the young man's eyes he saw the night they met. The near-forgotten feeling returns as a warm heat in his chest.

 

* * *

 

Graves keeps the boy close. His young man is quiet and obedient, eyes still distant and empty, but Graves is patient. He teaches Credence their ways, the hunt and the hunger that follows with the new life and strength.

Credence hadn't enjoyed his first meal, eyes terrified at the amount of blood and hurt that accompanied their need to sate their hunger. A young man too scarred by the world but whose kindness remains unaffected despite it. Usually, one so naive and benevolent wouldn’t survive their world. But Graves can be a good teacher, and as it turns out, Credence can be a good student, too.

Eventually, the boy relents. Graves knows all the ways to take without hurting and he is careful to press that the easiest way to not hurt is to be quick to minimize suffering. His boy just has to close an eye and let his instincts take over and does as he says. Credence prays when he does so, when he bares his fangs and siphons life from a lesser mortal. It irks Graves that Credence is still clinging to a faith that has done little for him, but it seems to help calm the young man. Perhaps, he just needs to be weaned off the useless faith for him to fully embrace his instincts.

Oh, and what a sight he is when he does.

When Credence feasts he is like a deprived beast. His hunger is vast and voracious, his control yet to be fully learned. The boy drinks and eats and consumes the life given to him, offered by Graves or sometimes hunted down himself. His young man is a quick and vicious learner. Always, Graves finds himself enticed by how well the red goes on his pale skin, along his swollen lips and sharpened teeth. The crimson and gold in his eyes glow with a temptation that even Graves finds hard to look away from.

Sometimes his sweet boy weeps and mutters more prayers once he sees the blood on him again, like he's woken up in the middle of a nightmare and seeks salvation. Graves is always there to soothe him.

“There is no god, Credence,” Graves says, gently cradling the young man's face, wiping his tears. “Even if your god does exist, he left you. Clearly, he doesn't care.” His words make the boy flinch, but the acceptance and agreement is clear. Graves doesn't need to remind Credence of what the young man had said to him before.

“You do. You saved me,” Credence whispers, and hides his face in Graves' chest. “There is only you.”

 

* * *

 

Graves has never claimed to be god, nor does Credence directly calls him such.

He does, however, murmurs Graves’ name like one would call out to a higher being. The tone he puts in it is revering, loving almost, and not in the same way Graves has heard him say before with his prayers. Graves finds it endearing.

He rewards his boy with a kiss, one day, something far more tangible than fate or flimsy divine intervention. He is quite surprised that Credence does not reject him like he’d expected to when he lays his mouth over those red-stained lips. He'd thought the young man would still be bothered by the rules of the faith he'd followed so loyally before.

Instead, it is Credence who chases his mouth for more.

The sweet tang of blood on their lips brings them together, again and again. They kiss and touch, and Graves bites down on Credence's skin. He drags his mouth and teeth everywhere; cutting into skin at his jaw, his neck, his shoulder, his chest. Graves cannot stop himself from marking him, lay out his brand on the pale skin and taste the nectar that is Credence’s blood.

As expected, Credence’s blood is still the sweetest he'd tasted.

The bites bleed crimson into his boy's pupils, and they glow bright with lust. Graves grins as he sees Credence’s canines elongate, instincts surfacing. Their kisses are brutal and delectable, full of blood and teeth and want.

 

* * *

 

Graves enjoys it best when he's pushing Credence's face to the mattress as he fucks him from behind. He relishes the way his pale, lithe body trembles, his hands clawing at the sheets and his toes curl. Graves loves it best when his boy weeps in pleasure, and bites at his lip hard enough to bleed. His blood is always intoxicating, and the sight of it on his pale skin is just as potent.

Graves hasn't felt so much life in his undead body in a long time. He is content and pleased, and his non-beating heart warms each time he rakes his eyes over Credence. Beautiful, delicate, and yet so fierce in his desires it almost pains Graves to admit how much he _adores_ his boy.

Credence no longer prays. He whispers Graves’ name instead, always with a smile and with darkened eyes. His tone is always worshipping, his touch always with a hint of want, and his glimpses with coy intention. It only comes to a peak, when he deliberately cuts at the skin on his wrist - no, the undead can no longer die like that, like the way Credence had wanted to the first time - but it is to offer the life in his blood to Graves.

“There is none but you,” Credence murmurs, as the blood flows along his forearm; he holds it out in offering to Graves, who takes his hand lovingly. The stench of iron and the words that accompanies it makes the older man sigh in wonder. Graves doesn’t know if Credence is aware of the depth of his actions. Offering his second life to Graves like this, means a much greater sacrifice, a much deeper bond than just a master and his thrall.

“Only you,” Credence repeats, and he utters them with such fervent conviction that Graves can't reject it. He kisses the boy's knuckles and trails his lips past his palm to his wrist, and finally, they dip into red. His tongue laps up the currency of life that has been offered so willingly, and latches his mouth on the torn open skin and sucks. He feels the threads of passion, thoughts and Credence’s soul seep into his very being. For a moment, Graves is almost overwhelmed with emotion.

“Oh Credence,” Graves says eventually, closing the cut flesh by the power of his will, and looks up to the young man, whose eyes are so dark, Graves feels like he’s staring into an abyss. “You put too much faith in me. I am no god for you to worship.”

“No, god doesn’t exist,” Credence replies with a smile as he echoes the words Graves has spoken to him before. “But you do, and you care. And I pray, to you, that you may fully welcome me in your paradise.”

Graves no longer holds back and brings their mouths together. Their kiss is electrified by the new bond they have but it is yet complete. Even in his long, overdrawn life, Graves has never done this before: He gifts Credence with his own blood, with the intent to share a life and soul. Their bodies and minds are intertwined, until to the end of their unnatural life.

Graves had never thought that being an undead for so long would lead him to something new and invigorating such as this. Graves has no faith, and doesn’t even remember of what were his beliefs the last time he was truly living. But his boy has enough in him for the both of them.

Credence  _is_ faith.

 


End file.
